


New Horizons

by Artorias



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Adopted Children, Blood and Injury, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Medical Procedures, Reader is a surgeon, Sibling Bonding, Timeskips galore, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artorias/pseuds/Artorias
Summary: You wake up, go slave your life away at a job you absolutely hate, and come back home to an apartment complex filled with junkies and other various shady individuals. Life isn't perfect, but at least you're alive.But one day, you find a small shivering girl, bleeding out on the pavement.
Relationships: Evelynn (League of Legends)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	New Horizons

**Author's Note:**

> A two shot I thought of during this lockdown pandemic. Next chapter should be available soon-ish. Hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the pacing in here is a little fucked, but i know that's a pretty big flaw of mine and I'm trying to fix it. Thanks for bearing with me!

The walk home to your average apartment is a bit scary, to be frank. The neighborhood you live in isn’t exactly the safest, and you’ve fortunately been lucky enough to have a secure set of locks, not wanting to risk your valuables being jacked while you’re away at work. As you walk, all you can do is just sigh, lamenting on your poor living conditions. Go to university, they said. You should get your degree, they said. You’ll get a great job, have kids with someone you really love, they said! And yet, what’s your situation now? In your early twenties, barely making ends meet, and with a high level degree that’s now completely useless.

Despite everything, you still haven’t mustered up the courage to actually do anything about it. It’s an odd sort of aspect of life, knowing how poor it is, yet never putting in real effort to get out of it. What’s the point, really?

Sister? Hates your guts.

Dad? The one person you thought understood you, dead from throat cancer.

Mom? Withering away in a retirement home, sipping on cheap one dollar margaritas and has probably completely forgotten you.

And so, you continue to walk. Walking under the vast line of half broken streetlights, you make the trek home, the only sounds you hear are your own footsteps and the chirping of crickets. Oh, and the faint sound of deep, heavy breathing.

…

…

Wait a second.

Your hands immediately dart for the small pocket knife you always keep on your person, flicking it out quickly. You very, very slowly tip toe through the night, not wanting to alert whatever it is making that noise. If your ears aren’t failing you, it sounds like it’s coming from a nearby alley… just to your right. A part of you screams in disapproval, and you agree wholeheartedly. What the hell are you doing, walking into a dark alley at this time of night? It could be some doped out junkie, or some lunatic waving around a machete, or it could be a bleeding woman on the pave-

Your eyes widen. A shivering little girl lying in a pool of her own blood writhes in agony right below you. Her odd looking pupils are dilated and glassy, and her one uninjured hand clutches at her bleeding stomach.

Holy… holy fucking shit.

Rusty, unhoned instincts you thought once lost come back with full force. You quickly bend down, trying to inspect her wounds. Fuck… that is seriously bad. What the hell happened?! Who would do this to a little kid?! She can’t be more than 12! You hastily rip apart a piece of your shirt, using it as a makeshift bandage. You grip her hand, making sure to show her exactly where to apply the pressure.

“Hold onto my hand and press down!” You hurriedly whisper, seeing her hand weakly press down on the cloth.

There’s nothing you can do for her here… unless you bring her back to your apartment. There’s no way you’d make it to the ER in time. You quickly scoop her up, ignoring her protesting cries. The sprint back to your place is a dizzying blur, dodging broken, run down fire hydrants and pieces of glass on the concrete floor. By the time you get home, you unlock your door with record breaking speed.

You grab a feel for her heartbeat, cursing out loud upon feeling it grow fainter with each passing second. Quickly, you make sure to remove everything off your used dining table, making sure it’s completely spotless. This will have to be your makeshift operating table. You rummage through the kitchen cabinets, feeling adrenaline course through your veins. Everything you’re doing is autopilot at its purest form, purely instinctual from routines once engraved into your body, now faded and worn with time.

You fish out an old, sealed box of surgical gloves and mask, slipping them on quickly. You run through the meager supplies you have. Bandages, sutures, antibiotics, needle, scalpel…

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…!” You curse out loud, making sure to steady your hands. You don’t take any deep breaths, knowing that every few seconds this little girl is left untreated means the higher possibility of her dying right here on your dining table. You immediately set out to work, inspecting the damage more closely.

_Focus. Remove the makeshift bandage._

You gently move away the girls hand hand, still firmly gripped onto the piece of cloth you gave her. At this point, this soaked bandage would only worsen the situation. You toss it to the side.

_Focus. Is there anything else left in the wound?_

Shit, there is. You gently brush off stray pieces of rubble from her time lying in that dark alleyway.

_Focus. Is she going into shock?_

Yes, definite yes. Pale skin, cold and clammy. You immediately elevate her legs, trying to increase the circulation through her body.

_Your mind is finally clear._

_Sterilize the wound. This will hurt._

You fish out your old leather wallet from your pockets, placing it between her teeth. “Kid… you’ve gotta bite down, but not too hard. This is going to hurt.” You whisper, taking out a bottle of saline..

The girl clenches her teeth as strong as she can, preparing herself for the incoming agony. You dab a good amount of saline onto the fresh gauze you’ve just prepared, and finally press it into her wound. The bloodcurdling scream, even if muffled, is so heartbreaking and traumatizing that you feel like it’ll haunt your dreams for the weeks to come. Eventually, you finish sterilizing the wound, taking back your wallet.

_Suture the wound. You’re almost done._

You quickly take out a suture kit, hesitating for a slight second. You haven’t done this in so, so long. Yet, the whimpering of this injured child in front of you crushes all of that hesitation in an instant. You shake your head, setting off to work. This is going to be a long, long night.

~ LATER ~

The breathing, if somewhat shallow, coming from the girl is an incredibly amazing reprieve from tonight's craziness that you wholeheartedly appreciate. You’re currently slumped against the wall, heaving out equally shallow breaths as much as you can. You glance down at your hands, seeing them shake slightly. The surgical gloves you’re wearing are absolutely caked in blood, and so is your now ruined shirt and pants. Sadly, your old uniform was thrown out and burnt a long time ago.

Your gaze shifts towards the now stable girl currently sleeping on your dining table. Blood smears, well… everywhere. On the chair, table, her clothes. You definitely don’t have any childrens clothes either. You scratch your head in confusion. How the hell are you gonna clean all of this up? If anyone were to come in, they’d definitely think you’re a serial killer.

But all of that can wait. It’s now that you can take a deeper look at her appearance. She definitely looks like she’s in her preteens, maybe 12 or 13? She has messy, long violet hair that has quite the amount of split ends. She also seems to be quite tall for her age. Her clothes- if you can even call them that, are pretty much ripped in every imaginable place, holes riddling most of the cloth.

You shake your head in disgust. Who could have done this to a little kid? It’s times like this where you really fucking hate this god forsaken city, infested with shitlickers who do this to children. Fucking children. Your fists clench, and you take several deep breaths to calm yourself down. Right now is not the time for anger. Slowly, but gently, you pick up her frail frame and take her to your room, the only real sleeping area in your apartment. It’s a bit messy, with several unwashed clothes scattered onto the floor, but the bed is squeaky clean having been freshly washed just 2 days ago. You make sure to lie her down completely straight, not wanting to irritate her stitched wound.

After making sure she should be comfortable, you make your way to the bathroom, grimacing at the sight of your bloody visage. There was a period in your life where this was the norm… but after being cast out for a mistake that you never committed, you became a simple civillian once again. Looking at yourself with a surgical mask and gloves brings back a certain form of melancholy you can’t really put your finger on. Regardless, you slip off the bloodied gloves, making sure they’re properly disposed of in the trash. It’s only now you notice how sweaty you are, despite the winter chill from outside.

After freshening yourself up, you snag a spare pillow and blanket from your closet, making sure to be as quiet as possible. “Well, better than nothing…” You mutter, making your way to the living room. It’s now that you finally feel the adrenaline wear away, feeling a sudden weariness in your body that threatens to make you faint right onto the floor. You suddenly collapse onto the sofa, falling into a dreamless, yet fulfilling sleep in what seems like a lifetime.

It’s… peaceful.

~ MORNING ~

You wake up with a groan, already feeling the aching in your back coming in with full force. Sunlight pours into the living room through your dirty windows, ones you haven’t actually cleaned since you moved in. As the grogginess slowly fades away, you immediately sit up from the couch. Shit, the girl!

You get up and practically dash to your room, panic rising. From the looks of it, it’s almost afternoon damn it! What if something happened during the night and you were asleep through it all?! You crash into your room with reckless abandon, panic sirens ringing in your brain. You see your room is just fine. But… something is wrong.

The violet-haired child sits up in your bed, the blanket covering her legs. Though, none of that concerns you.

It’s her eyes.

They’re dead.

Luckily, she isn’t actually dead. But the emptiness makes you feel like you’re staring at a dead body. It’s just the way she looks so broken. Empty. As if this were a possessed body instead.

You don’t even know what to say. It’s difficult to form any words. It’s crystal fucking clear that she’s been abused as a child. How she was stabbed however, is another story altogether. Yet again you feel that white hot anger surge inside you, feeling incredibly angry at the thought of such stupid, unneeded abuse against this poor kid. At the very least, you grew up with a somewhat normal, loving family.

“...Are you okay?” You whisper, not wanting to be too loud as to startle her.

Several moments pass, before she responds with a simple, barely noticable nod. You sigh, scratching your head. Well, at least she’s responding to you now. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, wanting to give her a bit of space.

“Well, might as well get this out of the way first. What’s your name, kiddo?”

“...” She gazes listlessly, eyes still muted. You’ve learned how to be patient with kids like these, however.

“...evelynn…” The child whispers, barely audible. Evelynn. Cute name, definitely fits her. At the risk of sounding like a total creep, she does look quite cute. Despite… you know, everything else.

“Evelynn. Well, my name is Y/N. Kiddo, I… I found you last night in an alleyway when I was walking home. You were bleeding horribly, so… I had to treat you here. In your condition, there was no way I would’ve made it to the ER.”

“...you helped me…?”

“I… yeah. I did. I was a surgeon, actually. But that’s besides the point; if you don’t mind me asking, what the he- heck happened to you kiddo?” You gently whisper, taking a look at the rest of her body. Brusies. Welts. Several cuts you’re 100% sure you never made yourself. The way she talks, the way her eyes dart around the room, inspecting for any danger. Clear signs of abuse. You know them anywhere. Abused children act almost the exact same way. They pick up on everything. How their abuser eats, drinks, acts, how they open or slam doors… it’s a rigorous lifestyle. You either harden into a diamond, or you’re grounded up into dust.

Evelynn doesn’t say anything for a long, long while. Despite this, you sit there and wait patiently for her to say what she needs to say. “...dad.” She whispers, tears pooling in her eyes. Birds chirp outside, oblivious to the crisis unfolding in front of you. “He… he hits me. When he gets mad.”

You close your eyes, trying to curb your anger. “Does he drink a lot?”

“Y-Yeah. Every day. Doesn’t matter what time or day it is. If there’s any around, he’ll drink it.” She curls up her legs in front of her, locking them with her arms. “He’s been like that ever since… since…”

You take her hand gently, trying to comfort her as best as she can, while also trying to stem your own frustration and anger. “Go on, kiddo. Take your time.”

“...since mom died.” Evelynn whimpers, eyes casted downwards. “I-I miss her. She never hit me. Dad never hit me when she was alive. Says he hits me because I look like her too much.”

There it is. The confirmation. You let out a sigh, holding her trembling hands. “Right. You don’t have to continue kiddo, I got the picture.”

Fuck me. Now you have a formerly abused kid in your bed. What the fuck do you do now? Take her to the orphanage? No way. The orphanages here are notoriously underpaid and poor, and many kids escape anyways due to the horrible living conditions. Give her up to CPS? And what next for her, be thrown into an adopted family that only wants a quick check? But then again, you’re barely making ends meet as it is. Supporting yourself is already a huge hurdle… but that, on top of having to take care of a kid? It seems almost impossible.

Yet, when you look into these broken eyes… you can’t find it in yourself to just turn her away. You once swore an oath to do no harm. You refuse to let another bright child such as her rot away into nothing.

Harden into a diamond, or ground into dust. That’s not something a kid should have to live by.

“Kid. Let me ask you something.” You see her eyes turn upwards to you. “...Do you want to go back to your house?”

Without a single second of hesitation, she shakes her head vehemently. “NO!” She screams, tears streaming down her face. “I… I hate that place! I-It’s not my home anymore! It NEVER was!” After her tirade, she winces in pain. You immediately scoot over, inspecting her stomach.

“Don’t move too much. I already stitched your wounds shut, kiddo. Don’t go and mess that up. Well… if you don’t want to go back… then your only other option is that you can stay here.”

Her eyes immediately widen. “W-What?”

“It’s exactly as I put it. You… you can stay here, and recover. Once you recover fully, we can discuss what to do next. But if you don’t want any of that, you’re free to leave.”

Don’t say no. Don’t say no. Don’t say no. Don’t say no.

Instead, she says nothing. Nothing but silence is inside the room, barring the birds chirping outside, and probably drug dealers in a nearby alleyway.

“...why?” She whispers, eyes downcast. “Why are you going to such lengths f-for me? What do you gain?”

“I don’t gain anything, kiddo. I just want to help.”

She snarls, instantly growing hostile. “Liar.” Evelynn whispers, eyes narrowing.

You close your eyes. “Liar what, Evelynn?”

“You’re a LIAR!” She screams, lunging at your throat. You don’t flinch at all, not even moving from your spot. You then grip her arms firmly, but not enough to hurt her at all. She squirms and struggles against your grip. “YOU’RE JUST GOING TO HURT ME! I’LL GET SMACKED AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN-”

“Quiet.” You firmly shout, but not loud enough to startle her. Her struggle immediately ceases, and she grows limp in your grasp. Much to your own heartbreak, she curls into a fetal position, sobbing loudly. The sight alone is enough to make you cry, but someone at the least needs to be the strong one. And that means you.

You gently take a hold of her head, placing her onto your lap. You gently stroke her hair, feeling her freeze up at the sudden physical contact. This continues for about 5 minutes, with you simply stroking her hair without any words spoken. You begin to hear her weep once more… but for some odd reason, you let this happen. Every once in a while, sometimes you just need to let it all out. And Evelynn definitely needs that more than anyone.

You’re not experienced in taking care of kids. Hell, you can barely take care of yourself.

And yet something inside beckons you further regardless.

“...dont want to be hurt anymore…” Evelynn whimpers. “Please…”

“Shh…” You whisper, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now.”

“B-But…”

“Shhh. Sleep, kiddo. Right now the best thing you can do is sleep.”

“But I’m scared…”

“All of us are scared on the inside, kid. It’s all about making baby steps.”

“O-One step at a time?”

You smile.

“One step at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a surgeon nor medically trained, pls no flame for shitty descriptions for medical procedures. Also, no i have not forgotten about the dad. That'll be a bigger plot point in the next chapter.


End file.
